


Tom Riddle And The Professor's Law

by Ellionne



Series: Writing Challenges [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (of age) Student Tom Riddle, Anal Fingering, Based On A Generated Title, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Fluff, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, NOW WITH AN ALTERNATIVE more smutty ENDING, Overstimulation, Possessive Tom Riddle, Professor Harry Potter, Spanking, Teacher/Student, Tom has the hots for it, Tom-centric, and does something stupid, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellionne/pseuds/Ellionne
Summary: Tom would never dumb himself down just to get the attention of his professor -  but it didn’t mean he was unable to follow through with less than bright ideas. [with art now <3]
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Writing Challenges [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011612
Comments: 54
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Do NOT repost, recreate or translate.**
> 
> Thanks to my beta [Sage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14) <3
> 
> It was intended as a 30min challenge but in the end, the last part (starting with the loaded question "Desk or chair?") was a livewrite of 4.5h ^^'
> 
> The ‘plot’ before that is inspired by a Discord prompt <3
> 
> —-
> 
> Feb 1st ‘21: OMG THE FIC HAS INSPIRED AN AWESOME ARTIST TO DO SOME AWESOME ART!! (In the endnote :3)

“-don’t care for how brilliant you lot think you are. You are adults in the process of graduating from Hogwarts, by now you should be able to follow simple rules. If any of you tries funny business outside of the rules I’ve set, outside of my _laws_ in this classroom, I will let rain hell down on you. Understood?” 

Tom scoffed internally but kept a pleasant expression on his face as he nodded and mumbled his agreement along with the other students in attendance of Professor Evans’ introduction of the new duelling class.

Evans had just slipped up and admitted to being a mudblood in front of the eternity of Hogwarts’ seventh-year students. Trying to threaten Wixen with _hell_ of all things. Seriously. He better didn’t expect any respect from Slytherin’s students now. Even a few of the other purebloods wrinkled their nose in barely concealed distaste. 

Tom wondered idly how long it would take for the first student to break the professor’s _law._ It would be interesting to compare the punishment he would come up with. Tom doubted the professor would be able to top last year’s Defense substitute whose preferred detention included the repeated use of a Blood Quill. Some students - too proud or scared to visit the hospital wing in time - still had their prominent scars and would continue so for the rest of their pitiful lives.

Tom’s musings were interrupted when his _favourite_ professor placed himself next to Evans. Since the man had defeated Grindelwald, Tom detested him even more. He had planned to throw dirt at Dumbledore after his graduation to get him removed from Hogwarts as punishment for his continued slights against Tom since their first meeting - but now, as revered _Hero,_ there wasn’t much opportunity anymore. Tom had worked hard for all his connections and influence but sadly it wouldn’t be enough to get rid of Dumbledore now.

“Professor Dumbledore had been so generous to offer his assistance for a demonstration. I’m positive that afterwards, you’ll be able to trust me when I say I _do_ know what I’m talking about when I’m telling you that your fancy private tutors taught you thestral dung in terms of duelling.” 

This time around, the animosity pouring off the purebloods was almost tangible while Tom allowed himself a brief twitch of his lips. He didn’t expect Evans to stand his ground against Dumbledore - as loath as Tom was to admit it, the man was brilliant with a wand and he _had_ just recently won an entire war with a single duel - but it was a balm on his rigged soul to hear the snobs being called out. He couldn’t remember all the times his loaded peers in Slytherin had boasted about their summer lessons with some renowned tutor or another. Tom loved to demonstrate his dominance after every summer of decidedly _not_ being tutored and bring his peers down a peg or two. Tom was brilliant and it was _his own_ accomplishment - he didn’t need anyone. 

„As I have explained before, any idiot with a book can learn offensive and defensive duelling spells. Any subpar instructor can give you high priced _dance lessons_ for proper duel etiquette.” Evans looked as if it pained him deeply to speak about etiquette in duels. Maybe the lessons wouldn’t be as dull as Tom had expected. “What you will learn with _me_ , however, is to use all of your resources. To think quickly on your feet. _This_ is why I decided to take Professor Dumbledore up on his offer - not because he managed to recently win a duel against an old acquaintance. As a Master of Transfiguration, I expect him to bring a few great examples of what I’ll try to teach you this year. _Imagination_.”

Tom held his breath, and with him all his peers, as he watched Dumbledore closely. Never in his years at Hogwarts, even with all the snobby purebloods around in Slytherin, had he ever heard someone speak that dismissively about Dumbledore’s feats. Especially not to his face. But despite what all students had expected, Dumbledore seemed almost delighted over Evans’ no-nonsense attitude. Tom would never be able to understand this man. 

“I’ll try my best to fulfil your high expectations of me, Harry. Shall we begin?”

On Evans’ nod, they moved towards one of the prepared duelling platforms. The runes around the place began to glow in a faint blue light, indicating that no magic would be able to cross the line - that the students outside would be protected. 

Evans flicked his wand and a bold 5:00 appeared in the air above their platform.

“We have decided to limit our duel to five minutes. It should be enough time to bring my point across without letting you be bored with old men throwing random spells at each other.”

The girls around the room giggled - Evans was all but old. His windswept black hair was still without hints of silver, the only lines in his face were laughter lines. Then again, it was always difficult to tell the age of magical folks. As far as Tom knew, the man could be 30 as easily as he could be 100 years old. Even Dumbledore wasn’t old for wizarding standards, although he more looked the part than his colleague. Evans obviously thought an age difference of a few years, or even a few decades, would be enough to put off any of the seventh-year girls currently in need of a promising match before the year was out and their parents would decide for them - just another proof for the man’s questionable upbringing. Those witches were _savage_.

“The only _etiquette”_ , again, the professor scrunched his nose in a way that shouldn’t look adorable on a grown man’s face but somehow still did, “I expect from you in my duelling class, is that you nod respectfully at your opponent in the beginning and that you stop immediately when your opponent yields or your time runs off. You’ll never kick anyone defenceless laying on the ground or god help you because I won’t.” 

Again a muggle phrase - how distasteful. It was almost as if Evans wanted to rub his heritage into the pureblood’s faces. 

“An additional rule, as mentioned before, will be that you only stick to non-traditional spells. If you go against my explicit orders and _curse_ someone, expect retaliation of the same kind. I won’t tolerate any bullshit just because you feel the need to be fancy.”

Tom was hard-pressed to suppress an annoyed sigh. He loved his curses and duelling class was the only way to practice them outside of his usual crowd. He wondered how much Evans was bark without a bite and if it would be worth a punishment if he was able to show off his curses. 

He watched Dumbledore take on a traditional duelling pose - his body angled sideways, knees slightly bent, wand arm raised above his head. Evans on the other hand just proceeded to stand calmly, almost bored, on the spot, facing Dumbledore full front, his wand held loosely between fingertips at his side. 

How plebeian. 

They nodded at each other and Tom leaned back to watch the doubtless showy spectacle that wouldn’t be more than that - a show. Nothing like the _real_ duelling he practised with his Knights.

_______________

Tom had been right. 

The demonstration had been _nothing_ like the practices with his Knights. It should have been a children’s light show - after all, they weren’t about to use spells designed for duelling - but it had been the most vicious _battle_ Tom had ever witnessed. 

In just five minutes Tom was forced to reevaluate his opinion of the Dark Arts as the only worthy way to achieve greatness, for Professor Evans had used nothing but spells taught at Hogwarts to show the seventh years what he meant when he said they would need _imagination_ to be great duellists.

Despite his crass way to speak, the professor had been the epitome of elegance. He didn’t even bother with defensive magic and just danced around all incoming spells and transfigurations that Dumbledore threw in his direction. 

Tom had been amazed. 

_This_ was what he wanted- to be able to do. 

He had watched with rapt attention as Dumbledore’s annoying twinkle died a few seconds into the fight. It didn’t even need the exchange of two spells for the _War Hero_ to change his entire attitude and treat his opponent seriously. 

Instead of the unhinged and biased Gryffindor advocate that most people saw, instead of the disappointed and always patronizing asshole that Tom saw, there had been a warrior. For the first time, Tom had _seen_ what people were on to when they said Dumbledore was one of the mightiest wizards alive. 

And regardless… It was Professor Evans, a man without history who dished out muggle references like Dumbledore his damned candies, that bound all of Tom’s attention. Where usually delighted Dumbledore was tense and focused, always scowling Evans was grinning like a loon. He waved between the spells as if he had never done anything else, he flicked his wand as if he were the conductor of a great assemble. 

Professor Evans seemed so incredibly _alive_ like Tom had never seen anything before. 

Tom had been enthralled. 

And then-  
Then Professor Evans caught one of Dumbledore’s spells - pure lightning, a variation of a weather spell as far as Tom could tell - in his bare hand. The lighting assembled itself in the palm of his hand and the professor _crushed_ it in his fist at the same time the timer went off and indicated the end of their duel.

_This_ was what Tom wanted. 

_Who_ Tom wanted- to mentor him. 

_______________

It was frustrating. 

Despite his best efforts, Professor Evans didn’t give Tom any more attention than his utterly mediocre peers. Even less so, since Tom was obviously ahead in his studies and his sheer capability.

Tom answered every question asked in detail, he followed every instruction to the letter, he managed every new spell on the first try. He had tried to stay back and talk to the professor, charm his way into advanced one-on-one lessons - but after every class, the professor did some feedback rounds with the students that had struggled and had no time for Tom. 

Tom might be desperate for the man’s attention but not enough to dumb himself down. No one could offer him _anything_ that would be worth it to deliberately set aside the only thing that had probably kept him alive for his first years at Hogwarts - as assumed mudblood in Slytherin. Tom would rather never announce his noble heritage than renounce his intelligence.

So: Tom was pissed. 

To make matters worse, he was paired up with Lauren Jones. A Gryffindor - as the word was around - as useless outside of a bedroom as useful she was in it. Tom couldn’t comprehend how anyone wanted to associate with her - she was pitiful. She didn’t even _try_ to impress in class with how busy she was stalking the next best possible match around. And since the duel between Dumbledore and Professor Evans, she had apparently set her eyes on the professor, no matter his unknown age, fortune, or even _blood status_. 

At one point, she had also tried to endear herself to Tom but he had known to handle her - just like everyone else who had tried the same because of his looks or accomplishments - to leave him alone. Tom might have high goals but he wouldn’t whore himself out for them. He had other means to reach them, like his ever-growing circle of Knights and influence proved.

So it was insulting that Tom now had to waste his precious time on Jones, who never ceased to follow his professor with her hungry eyes and putting her cleavage on display every time he came around to them like the common whore she did her best to imitate. 

Maybe…  
Tom would never dumb himself down. But-  
There was a foolproof way to gain his professor's attention, Tom was sure of it. The man had admitted as much at his introduction. It even would solve Jones’ inappropriate behaviour, at least for today.

It was rare for Tom to indulge his more cruel wimps on the spot - especially outside Slytherin and since he had crafted his amenable Hogwarts persona - even so, Tom raised his wand at his _opponent_ and, without further thought, cast a spell he had read in a duelling book not long ago while he did some _independent studying_. 

Tom watched in delighted excitement as his purple spell hit the girl square in her scandalously displayed chest and spread over her whole body in a finely woven net. Tom had never seen her more beautiful than now: watery blue eyes wide in fear, painted lips parted in shock, and the dusted fake-blush on her cheeks grotesquely against the sudden white skin. 

A single moment of silence in which no one moved and nothing was to hear-

The screams were the sweetest sounds Tom had heard all week and his gaze followed Jones’ spasming body collapsing to the ground where she tried to make herself as small as possible while she convulsed in deserved agony. His eyes latched hungrily on her - way too much - exposed skin, where colour blossomed under the fine lines of his spell. 

She was bound to have severe internal bleedings for so many bruises to bloom all over her body, but honestly - Tom had expected a more _worthy_ result from a spell out of the infamous Black Library. 

_“RIDDLE!”_

Tom was forcefully brought out of his observations as Professor Evans suddenly appeared at their side and sent a _stupefy_ towards the crying and weeping girl, stopping the satisfactory sounds effectively before he checked her over with a flick of his wand and began levitating her with brisk steps towards the exit in what appeared to be the same second.

“Class dismissed. And Riddle-” Tom swallowed and felt surprisingly like prey upon earning the professor’s full attention he had yearned for all the time. The cold fury blazing in green eyes wasn’t how he had imagined this moment, not at all. “-you’ll be waiting at my office door until I have time to deal with you.”

Tom would never dumb himself down - but it didn’t mean he was unable to follow through with less than bright ideas. 

_______________

Tom stared passively ahead as a new gaggle of students wandered past him, sticking their heads together as soon as they were a few steps further down the hall. Obviously, word had spread that Tom Riddle, the Headboy with a perfect record, had finally gained his first detention. 

As he checked his nails in a deliberately bored gesture, Tom wondered idly if it was already part of his punishment to be on display like this. To let his peers know about his _mistake_ that brought that wretched girl to the hospital wing. There was no way the professor was still there, the wounds hadn’t been _that_ bad. Tom was waiting for at least an hour now - no, it had to be deliberate. How Slytherin of his professor. 

While Tom ignored the next bunch of staring students, he let his mind drift further and wondered about the detention - who was he trying to kid - the _punishment_ he was about to receive. 

The professor had made it clear from the start that he wouldn’t tolerate any fancy stunts of students trying to impress. Word was around about the poetic justice of his detentions. And while corporal punishments weren’t exactly common anymore they also weren’t outlawed so theoretically the professor would be able to inflict the effects of Tom’s spell on him. But would the professor go as far as to use the Dark Arts on a student just to prove a point? 

The thought made Tom surprisingly uneasy. He wanted his professor’s attention, yes. But he didn’t want to find himself on the wrong end of the other man’s wand. 

...Alright, this _had_ to be part of the punishment already.  
Tom didn’t let it show on his face but the musings about the consequences of his actions started to get to him and let him shift his weight on his feet. So despite all his usual aloofness and grace, Tom nearly jumped at the sound of an opening door behind him. His head whipped around and he met the cold gaze of his professor. What the- 

“Come in.”

How-

There was only the one entrance to the man’s office, wasn’t it? Apparition on Hogwarts’ grounds was impossible - and not even his professor, who was powerful enough to catch a lightning spell in his bare hand, could be powerful enough to overcome Hogwarts’ ancient wards, right? So how-

Tom didn’t know how to feel about the implications of his thoughts, but he sure felt _something_.

“ _Now,_ Riddle _.”_

Tom hadn’t been in the professor’s office before but he was surprised at how empty it was. There wasn’t any personal touch in the small room, just the common desk and shelf combination that even the empty and dusty offices scattered around Hogwarts held. No pictures or diplomas on display on the mantelpiece, no significant books visible.

It weirdly fit the professor. As interesting as the man was, he usually tried his best to appear as bland as possible - a laughable effort, with the power that was obviously at the assumed mudblood’s beck and call. T ~~he Slytherin purebloods had, of course, an _opinion_ on that. Nothing they dared to share in Tom’s presence. _This_ had been over for a few years now. ~~

If it wasn’t his power that was discussed, it was his swashbuckling appearance - at least from approximately everyone above the age of fifteen. It was an embarrassing display where the priorities of the average students lay. Tom could objectively admit the man was handsome, but his fit appearance wasn’t anything to write home about. 

There were other students of old pureblood lines with similar aristocratic features as well as some students with a sharp jawline like the professor’s. Nothing particularly exciting at all. Even the man’s eyes weren’t as special as the stupid girls and boys tried to make them out to be. Sure, as Tom had noticed absently during his observations, they had a nice shade of green but so had the killing curse and nobody fawned of it, did they? So it really wasn’t anything special - one just had to kill to see it outside of the professor’s eyes. No big deal.

It was probably Tom’s renewed attempt to see what all the talk was about - the hair _might_ be noteworthy with how it defied gravity, Tom amended - that was to fault for him being unable to make sense of his professor’s question.

“Desk or chair?”

“I- Excuse me?” 

With a swish of his wand, the professor conjured a single chair in the middle of the room, facing the lit fireplace. It was a simple one and didn’t even have armrests, but Professor Evans sat down as if it were a throne. 

“I warned all of you again and again that I’ll retaliate every breaking of my laws in kind, Mr Riddle. Despite my _explicit_ order to not use any duelling spells, you took the extra step and even used one originating in the Dark Arts. For your sake, I’ll assume you didn’t know about its origins and just decided to be an ordinary bragging teenage idiot who wanted to show off a fancy new spell without the required deeper knowledge.”

An _ordinary_ _bragging teenage idiot_?! Tom was neither ordinary nor an idiot and besides he was-  
“I’m of age, Professor.” 

The corner of Professor Evans’ lips twitched in a movement so small, Tom almost missed it. He would have loved to miss it because the second he closed his mouth, Tom was hit with a rare wave of embarrassment. It was the single most stupid thing he had said in years - knowingly casting a Dark Curse in Defense included. Honestly, stating one's age when being accused of behaving like a teenager- what a teenage thing to do.

“I’m well aware, Mr Riddle. But I’m sure you’ll happily agree on being a bragging _teenage_ idiot - otherwise, I’ll be forced to call the Aurors and report an _adult_ using Dark Arts on a minor in Hogwarts and I’d rather not.” 

Oh, Merlin.  
Tom _was_ an idiot. 

He had always been careful with his Knights, to not be discovered when they practised their _independent_ spell work. And just because he had wanted the attention of Professor Evans he had left all sense in his dorms and had been a bloody idiot. Almost a _Gryffindor_. Tom had no illusions what would have happened if Dumbledore had been in attendance for today's lesson. He would have been expelled and shipped to Askaban before he would have been able to properly lower his wand. 

There was only one way to play it now even though it was a big blow on his pride.  
He used his earlier embarrassment and willed his face to heat up in an often practised _pretty_ blush, eyes cast downwards in a timid gesture he despised with a passion.

“I was an idiot and used a spell I didn’t know the consequences of to brag to my friends as teenage boys are prone to do. I’m-“, continuing probably hurt more than the spell had hurt that stupid girl, “-deeply sorry and will accept the consequences.”

Tom risked a hidden glance from under his lashes and caught Professor Evans faintly smirking at him as if he saw right through Tom’s act. Considering his earlier words, he probably did. 

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr Riddle. Your spell caused severe internal bleedings all over Miss Jones’ body. Obviously, it’s nothing to recreate as your punishment. I refuse to use Dark Arts on a student and I won’t cause any bleedings for mere detention.”

Tom allowed himself a barely audible sigh of relief. He never had detentions before but he had heard _stories_ . The caretaker was said to be rather cruel in his punishments and now that Tom’s moment of brainless Gryffindor-idiocy was over he _had_ started to worry about his punishment. But as it seemed, it wouldn’t be too bad. 

“That being said, since corporal punishment is still allowed, I think bruises are an acceptable compromise to teach you some compassion for Miss Jones’ suffering at your wand. As it is your first misstep, I’ll even allow you to choose your punishment. So what will it be - ten strikes with the cane at the desk or twenty with my hand on the chair?”

The almost bored way in which the professor had offered Tom his _choice_ let his face grow hot in mortification, unplanned this time. 

Tom’s time at the orphanage had taught him a great deal of random knowledge he would never admit to possessing. So he knew that even though the number of strikes would be less, the cane was to be avoided at all costs. And while the professor seemed to be very fit, there was a small chance he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his threatened amount of strikes - the matron rarely did, after all.

“Chair.”

While Tom still stood ramrod straight at the office door, gathering himself for what was to come, Professor Evans merely uncrossed his legs to even out his lap and waited for Tom as if they would just meet for tea and a nice chat.

Tom took his sweet time to unbutton his outer robes - not because he wanted to draw out the moment or because he thought there was a possibility to avoid what was about to happen, but Tom would not betray his nerves by letting the professor see his shaking hands. He had learned early on in his life to never show weakness and he wouldn’t do it now. 

With measured steps, Tom crossed the room while he folded his robe over his arm. There was no coat rack or chair to place it so he just laid it gently on a free corner of the professor’s desk. With Professor Evans at his back, Tom used the unobserved moment to close his eyes and brace himself. He could do this. He had survived worse. At least it was a deserved punishment by a powerful wizard and not an undeserved one by a vile muggle. 

Did he need to bare himself?  
Who was he trying to kid? Of course he did - another tidbit of orphanage-acquired knowledge.

His hands fell to his belt and without pause, he opened it as well as the buttons of his trousers. It would be impractical to walk back to the professor with his rear bared (never mind humiliating) so Tom decided against it. Instead, he turned back to the professor who still looked uninterested by the whole ordeal. Strangely enough, it helped to soothe Tom’s nerves. Chances were high the professor was neither a sadist nor a pervert and in fact, just wanted to punish Tom in kind for his offence.

“Well then, be my guest.” 

Tom curbed his desire to curse the man and took the quirked eyebrow and vague hand gesture as the _invitation_ it was and placed himself carefully over the man’s lap. He tried his best to not make it awkward so he could leave with as much dignity intact as possible.  
That Tom himself was taller than the professor and by no means a child anymore didn’t help though.

He managed to not move a muscle when his professor held on to the waistband of his trousers and pulled them down to his mid-thighs in a single move. What Tom did _not_ manage was to suppress his ugly deep flush at the professor’s mildly surprised hum. 

Even before the muggle war had hit London, the orphanage hadn’t much money to spend on not strictly necessary goods. Between food rations, the matron’s gin, and, well, underwear the decision was an easy one for the matron. 

And despite earning good money by tutoring his loaded peers, Tom could never bring himself to waste it on something as useless as clothes no one was intended to see, especially since magic made his habits born in poverty much more hygienic. Either way, when this day was over, Tom vowed himself, he would rethink his priorities. While his stunt had gained him his professor’s sole attention, he wasn’t out for a repetition. But he also wasn’t keen on getting caught on going commando again, however small the possibility. 

Thankfully the professor didn’t acknowledge it any further. Instead, the man laid an arm resting over Tom’s back without pressure, but Tom felt weighed down by it regardless. The impression of being restricted made his skin itch.

“You’ll count out loud for me, Mr Riddle.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Tom hadn’t even closed his mouth before the first blow hit his bare ass and pressed a surprised gasp out of him. It hadn’t even hurt _that_ much but it had been unexpected. Tom vowed to let it be the only response the professor would get out of him. Dignity. 

“One.”

Another blow, on the other side this time. It was by no means pleasant but it wasn’t as bad as Tom had expected, considering the professor’s fit appearance. He would be able to handle this punishment just fine.

“Two.”

At the fifth blow, the professor suddenly increased the force of his strikes and Tom felt like an idiot all over again. Of course, the professor wouldn’t start full force right away. He used his bare hand, it would hurt him as much as Tom if he were to not warm his palm up. 

And he was warmed up now. The force Professor Evans had used was enough to rock Tom, rubbing his tender parts uncomfortably against his professor’s clothed thigh. 

Tom reached down and closed his hands around the legs of the conjured chair to brace himself and avoid further _movements_ before humiliation could take over the pain. He always prided himself on his pain tolerance so he held true to his own promise and didn’t let the professor hear his discomfort that slowly but steadily changed to pain. Tom would hold up his act. _Dignity._

“Eight.”

And if Tom were to grimace to hold all sounds in, his knuckles white where his hands gripped tightly at the chair’s wooden legs, no one would be the wiser. His calm counting and the almost obscene sound of his professor’s palm hitting the bare flesh of Tom’s ass would be the only sound in the room if he could help it. 

“Nine.”

_Breath in. Breath out._

“Ten.”

_Master yourself. You are_ Lord Voldemort _. Pain is nothing to you._

“Eleven.”

It felt _hothothot_ and they had still nine more to go. Tom tried with all his might to not think about it. The force of the blows didn’t change and stayed as hard as they were but Professor Evans had started to breathe harder with the exercise. Maybe there wouldn’t be _nine_ more. Tom could only hope.

“Twelve.”

Tom flinched hard - almost springing from his professor’s lap and rubbing his sensitive cock against the harsh fabric on his thigh - as the next touch on his rear didn’t bring forth the expected stinging pain but just a dull echo as a single finger caressed the flesh of his cheek, pressing into it. It felt cold against his skin, almost soothing if it weren’t for the slight pain one got when a bruise was pressed. Tom’s fair skin always had bruised easily.

Before he could properly settle back, the arm that had laid over his back - and had felt with continued blows more comforting than suppressing - was lifted and Tom _whined_ embarrassingly as he felt a sudden harsh grip on the nape of his neck and his upper body was pressed down again, his body sprawling itself back out over his professor’s lap on its own. 

Living for eternity didn’t sound as promising anymore - Tom would have gladly accepted to be swallowed by the floor. He couldn’t remember letting loose such an undignified sound ever before. 

Without a coherent decision, he tried to move out of the grip but the professor just held on tighter and pressed additionally his elbow into Tom’s back, forcing Tom into an awkward angle where his back was uncomfortably arched, his groin pressed into his professor's thigh. Another blow, feeling somehow even more punishingly than before, just put more force on it and in turn let him _ground_ against it in an inevitable short motion that was hopefully not noticed.

“Th-Thirteen.”

Under these circumstances, Tom was able to forgive himself gasping out his count. He would do better. He _would_ get out of this with his dignity intact. Even though the repeated caress of his cheek let him ground against the thigh again. If it were to continue, Tom feared his dignity would be shattered by other means than showing a reaction to _pain._

“You bruise more easily than I thought you would.”

With how close they were, Tom was able to _feel_ the contemplative hum of his professor as he absently caressed the marks he had left on Tom’s skin. His eyes were probably following his touch, looking at Tom’s exposed skin. 

_Dignitydignitydignity_. 

Tom couldn’t explain what happened.  
He enjoyed being a predator, being a _Lord_ to his Knights. He had worked hard to gain his position. He was strong and mighty and brilliant, he was independent. He relished in controlling all aspects of his life, even his _death._ He relished in controlling others.  
But still.

The helplessness he felt right now, trapped over his professor’s lap by a tight grip on his nape, an elbow piercing uncomfortably in his back, and the in stark contrast surprisingly gentle hand at his rear. Being _exposed_ like this… he didn’t hate it. And he didn’t know how to handle this realization.

The sudden feel of magic in the air, the press of its might around him, let him feel stronger than just _not-hate_. As focused as Tom was on his task of forcible calm counting, he almost had forgotten what it was that brought him into this situation in the first place. Had almost forgotten his desire to get his professor’s attention.

His _powerful_ professor, as was just proved again when Tom watched from the corner of his eye a small pot levitating over to them from a shelf. Since Tom could still feel both of his professor’s hands on his skin, there was no way he could have used his wand. Professor Evans had just directed his magic word- and wandlessly - _what a wizard! -_ and it let Tom feel weak. Maybe the whole situation was worth the hassle. Tom probably wouldn’t have witnessed such a casual display of power without it.

“Miss Jones’ injuries were healed promptly. It would be cruel to let you suffer any longer for it, wouldn’t it? Let me help you.”

Oh no.  
Oh no, no, _no_.

“It’s not necessary, Professor.” 

Tom couldn’t help himself but tried to twist out of his professor’s grip as he heard the pot being opened. The combination of the strengthened grip on his nape and the new pressure at his dick let him gasp out again, but Tom couldn’t really care right now. 

“No need to worry. It’s just a bruise removing salve.”

Tom needed to rewrite his assessment of his professor. How had he managed to fool Tom into thinking he wasn’t a sadist? 

The hand on his ass returned and spread a cool, soothing balm over the abused skin. Tom wanted to breathe in relief upon the decreasing of the residual pain but all he could feel was dread. The salve would vanish the bruises just fine. It would cool the skin and lessen the results of the previous harsh treatment. But it would also leave his skin tender and every bruise he gained in the next hour before the salve lost its effects would be lasting and not curable with magical means. 

The careful handling of his professor didn’t help with the rushing heat of the salve, as was usual before the cooling properties would set in. Tom squirmed but the feel of his dick rubbing over Professor Evans’ strong thigh, sure as hell didn’t help him curb any heat in his lower regions. Neither did the warning flex of the professor’s hand in Tom’s neck. Damn.  
It took an agonizing long minute of silence before-

“There, you’re all set!” 

The professor had the gall to punctuate his statement with a light smack on a freshly treated cheek and even though Tom _knew_ it was a mere pat compared to the harsh blows the professor had dealt him before he flinched hard in the man’s grip and against his thigh, a pained moan on his lips.

“F-Fourteen.”

“Oh, that is right. We weren’t finished, were we?”

_That- that bloody fucker._ _  
_ Tom took a steadying breath.

“No, Professor.”

The man hummed again and Tom began to _hate_ the sound, as pleasant the resonating through his body might be.

“Ah, my bad. The salve was a bit early then, wasn’t it? How many more strikes are left?”

Tom closed his eyes.  
He might take some lessons in cruel punishment from the man.

“Six, Professor.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be too much to handle for you. Do you want me to bring it to an end now, Mr Riddle?”

Tom would not admit defeat. He would finish this, his dignity intact, or he would die trying. Another steadying breath. 

“Please, Professor.”

The next blow came as harsh as the ones before the break and- _Merlin_ . Tom hadn’t felt pain like that since he was a small inexperienced child under the cane of a _very_ experienced teacher at the orphanage. 

He felt a stinging in his eyes but refused to give in. He would manage, _dignity in-fucking-tact._

“Fifteen.”

A single blow in and his voice sounded already thick. Fuck. It would have been easier to handle if he wasn’t required to talk. Thinking of it, that was probably the reason why he _had_ to count out loud. 

Another blow with more force, if it was even possible, had Tom rock against his professor’s thigh again. The suddenly imploding heat in his groin and the sheer amount of concentration he needed to not manoeuvre himself in an even more embarrassing situation made it impossible to counter the stinging in his eyes any longer. He felt himself tearing up, it was humiliating.

“Sixteen.” 

And just as he feared, his voice betrayed him. It made it even worse. He wasn’t _crying._ But just hearing his tight voice could fool anyone into thinking he was.

The next time he felt his professor's hand, it wasn’t on his inflamed ass but lightly on his mid-thigh. It didn’t feel deliberate, more like the man was merely resting his hand on the next-best surface. 

“Do you want to know why I used the salve prematurely?”

It was the accumulation of all sensations of the whole situation - the pain of his ass, the helplessness in his professor’s grip and _the_ _confusion of not hating it,_ the beginning arousal from repeatedly grounding his groin against the other man’s leg - that let him lash out bitterly instead of acting calm like he was known for. 

“Because you wanted to hurt me more?” 

Shit. He had forgotten the sound of his voice.  
The added embarrassment just caused the tears in his eyes to swell even more. He kept them from spilling by sheer willpower but he couldn’t fool himself - with the momentum of the next blow they would spill. But Tom would hold on for as long as he was able to. 

“You know the rules in my classroom are - against all the pseudo pedagogy nonsense - about equal retribution. I wasn’t lying earlier, Miss Jones was brought immediately to the hospital wing and was healed up in no time. _But_ the injuries came back worse than before because the mediwitch hadn’t expected for a student of our priced school to get cursed by the Dark Arts in class. Miss Jones suffered greatly.”

Not enough, if they asked Tom. She had suffered for trying to steal _his_ professor’s attention. Not for bringing Tom into a situation as humiliating as this one. 

Tom cried out with the unexpected blow on his thigh, where mere moments before the hand of his professor had rested innocently. 

Mortification swapped over Tom as he bit his lip to avoid all further sound when he felt his face wet from tears. The blow hadn’t even hurt as much as the ones before - his thighs had been left alone when the professor _helped_ him with the bruise removing salve - but it had hit close enough to his burning ass to increase the pain and the suddenness of the blow didn’t help either to brace himself. 

He took some harsh breaths through his nose to calm down. Tom couldn’t decide if the thumb that had started to stroke at the side of his neck in slow motions was helping him to relax or just riled him more up. The burning pain from the spanking blended together with the _burn_ of Professor Evans’ rough-feeling trousers on his hard cock - and bloody hell, when had that happened? 

The man’s firm muscles hadn’t given any leeway when Tom had been lightly rocked against his leg as the man had delivered Tom’s punishment in a steady rhythm. Even less so, every time Tom had flinched or squirmed hard against it and had to be held in place by the saf- _uncomfortable_ grip in his neck. 

“Don’t forget your count, Mr Riddle. You need to reach twenty or we’ll be still at it tomorrow.”

The mere thought had Tom squirming. How was it that his iron control over body and mind was slipping again and again since he had entered this office? At least he was able to bite back another gasp when his professor gripped his just-hit thigh in a firm hold to keep him still. The professor’s other hand was still busy with the soothing motions at Tom’s neck, dangerously close to his pulse point. It drove Tom mad.

“Sev- Seventeen.”

“Very good, Mr Riddle. I’m glad to see you’re able to keep up.”

Tosser. As if Tom would be held back by a mere inconvenience. Never mind the harsh blinking he had to do so to clear his vision. It had been years since the last time Tom had cried and he had entirely forgotten what a hassle it was. Not just the wet feeling on his skin that would tighten soon enough due to the salt, it was the closed-off feeling of his throat that was the worst. Disgusting. 

He would never admit that the continued stroking at his neck helped with it.

“I hope you are aware that I’m doing you a favour right now?” 

Tom _definitely_ needed to reevaluate his impression of Professor Evans. Apparently, he was - despite Tom’s earlier judgment - not just a sadist but also a pervert. Admittedly, just looking at them it was probably Tom who seemed like the pervert - hard-on that he sported - but that was _obviously_ a purely bodily reaction. He _was_ just a teenager, as much as Tom did loath to admit it. But for a professor to talk about doing a student a favour while spanking them? Pervert.

Sadly it didn’t help Tom with his problem. Not in the slightest. Considering which roads his mind decided to go down in light of this new revelation. At least Tom had enough self-control left to avoid any further squirming in reaction to his thoughts. 

“You left Miss Jones to scream and cry in class for all your peers to see. The only reason why I’ve given you the courtesy of privacy is that your record is clear of any blemishes and due to your head boy status. The fallout for you would be much greater than it was for Miss Jones.”

So no pervert after all. But the professor couldn’t really mean-

_Smack!_

Tom cried out, followed by a humiliating keening sound, as the next blow hit without warning and way harder than those previously. Combined with the effects of the salve, it _burned_ so hot Tom was barely able to hold himself together, tears falling freely now. 

His groin being rocked again against the professor’s thigh made it even worse, for the burning feeling on the skin of his ass _shifted_ and there wasn’t any mistaking now for the pleasure that boiled deep in his belly. And it threw Tom more off his game than anything before. 

He squirmed in his professor’s hold and managed a few more rocking motions against the muscled thigh before he was able to still himself again. The now punishingly strong grip on his nape and thigh might have helped with composing himself. 

Not helping was the immediate next hard blow that landed on his ass before he managed to calm down. It wrung a high moan out of him, that just with much fantasy could be described as _pained_.

“If I were to teach you _real_ compassion for what pain your actions caused Miss Jones, I would have disciplined you in front of the class for them to witness you cry as you do now. It would let you truly feel her humiliation.”

Another three hard smacks in quick succession, this time somewhat easier to handle because they hit the swell of his ass rather than the already abused flesh full on. 

Tom could only grip the legs of the chair hard enough to lose all blood in his hands - then again, it might have left earlier to gather _elsewhere -_ and hold on for dear life, just taking his punishment without wasting any thought on keeping the embarrassing sounds in nor for the consequences of the rocking he did on his own volition. 

A firm hand at the back of his thigh stilled his rocking again. The thumb at his neck helped him to calm down and take breaths that actually gave him some desperately needed oxygen. There was no way to tell how long the break went, but it had to be a minute or two.

“Didn’t you forget anything, Mr Riddle?”

_They were done now, weren’t they?_

“Twenty- Twentyone?”

It felt like ages since Tom had felt the professor’s hum vibrating through his body the last time, but he could have gone a few _years_ more without it.

“Is that right, Mr Riddle? I would have thought a student of your calibre would be able to count without hiccups.”

Tom closed his eyes in defeat, his voice more a whisper than his usual strong and clear tone.

“Eig- Eighteen, Professor.”

“Ah yes, I thought so, too.”

Despite his words, they stayed like that for a few more moments. Tom almost shook in anticipation of the final two blows while Professor Evans, who held him secure over his lap, continued to stroke soothingly with his thumb at Tom’s neck. 

Tom didn’t calm down. 

It only got worse, faint tremors running through him, his neck under the professor’s hand felt sweaty and it wasn’t due to the shared body heat. Tears fell steadily over his face that, considering the heat he felt burning on _those_ cheeks, was flushed enough to illuminate a room. He wasn’t able to tell if the fearful anticipation he felt was for the pain of the blows or for the pleasure they would turn into. 

He was a mess _and he didn’t hate it_.

“Do you want me to finish?”

At the soft drawl of Professor Evans' deep voice, Tom rocked involuntary against the man’s thigh again and even though he didn’t think himself capable anymore after everything that had happened since he entered the room, he could have died in embarrassment due to it. Tom didn’t dare to contemplate his dignity.

“P-Please, Professor.”

“As you wish.”

While expected, the harshness of the next blow still caused Tom to cry out and moan helplessly when his hard cock was rocked against the professor’s leg. The fabric of his clothes rubbing against Tom’s bare skin felt almost more exciting than if it would have been the man’s skin, Tom imagined.

“Nineteen.”

Tom wondered idly if the professor had even heard him as the word had been more breathed than spoken but before Tom could dwell on it, the next blow landed hard on his burning skin and Tom couldn’t handle it anymore. 

He rocked against the leg that brought him at least the short-lived relief of a touch on his teased cock, the pain of his ass didn’t hurt anymore it just _burned_ like the pleasure deep in his blood, there was no way to distinguish them. The grip in his nape strengthened as the professor tried to reign him in - it was probably meant to hurt, but it only let Tom sob out another moan as it added to the pleasure he gave himself on his professor’s thigh.

It was so filthy and so, so good but it wasn’t _enough_. 

Tom continued to rut helplessly, as the professor used his strong grip on Tom’s neck to force him up and to face him, it arched Tom’s back in an even more awkward angle than before and somehow it only added to his helpless arousal. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something again, Mr Riddle?”

_Forgetting?_

_He- oh!_

_He was supposed to count, wasn’t he?_

_But- it had been the last, hadn’t it?_

“I- No. Professor.”

The professor only quirked an eyebrow at Tom’s laboured words and studied his face for a long moment. Had he any more coherency left, Tom would have finally died in mortification - or had at least planned brutal retaliation - of the thought what the man had seen in his flushed and tear-stained face, but as it was, Tom felt just some short-lived relief as the man pushed him back down over his lap - in a more comfortable way than before - and began to spank him in earnest. 

Tom had thought the blows had been hard before but he had had no idea.  
It took three hits before the air wasn’t just filled with Tom’s helpless sounds - full of pain and pleasure in equal measurements - but also with the professor’s harsh breathing, the strain of delivering hard smacks on Tom’s ass finally getting to him. 

Due to the harshness of the hits, Tom was rocked against the leg, again and again, any pretence was gone as he helplessly rutted against it. 

_Smack!_

With a final push, Tom fell over the edge and came all over the trousers he had found relief on. He collapsed bonelessly on the professor’s lap as he tried to force enough air into his lungs. He concentrated on just breathing for who knows how long. The burning on his ass never dulled, the tear stains on his face began to tighten as they dried. The hand in his nape had wandered onto the back of his head without his notice, the thumb no longer stroking soothing at the side of his neck but the end of his spine while the long fingers were buried into his hair and scratched his scalp. 

His breathing wasn’t calm but it wasn’t longer laboured, the tremors in his body had ceased. 

“Twenty.”

Tom made a face as he heard his voice. He didn’t want to dwell on the reasons why it sounded so _rough._ And he really hoped the professor wouldn’t comment on it either. 

“Well done, Mr Riddle.”

And despite his burning skin, Tom felt cold as his professor bereft him of his grounding touch to hold a hand out for aiding Tom in standing up. 

Tom let go of the chair’s legs that he had still grasped without noticing and took Professor Evans' hand to steady himself when he carefully got back to his feet and turned his back to the professor in an _almost_ naturally looking move. 

He deliberately didn’t risk a look at the professor, neither his face nor the mess on his lap, as he straightened out his rumbled clothes and began to pull up his trousers. 

Tom was obviously still feeling more off-kilter than he thought to be - there was no other explanation why his breath hitched upon the feeling of foreign, powerful magic caressing his skin, purging it of all traces of the previous encounter. 

“ _Hah.”_ _  
_ Not _all_ traces, as the brutal stinging proved when the soft fabric of his trousers came in touch with the abused skin of his ass.

He closed the buttons and belt and took slow steps towards the professor’s desk to grab his outer robes, careful to avoid further friction of the fabric on his tender flesh. There was no need to try and act unaffected as long as he hadn’t left the professor’s office. All thoughts of dignity had literally been beaten out of him by now. There was enough time for his acting skills as soon as he left his professor behind. 

He felt the heavy gaze of his professor between his shoulder blades and did his best to ignore it, threw his robes over them to add an extra layer of protection. He tried to play on time and attempted to comb his hair back into order with just his fingers. 

What was he even doing here? 

“Good evening, Professor.”

With an unaffected mask firmly in place, he turned on his heel and marched with a sure step towards the door. 

“Good evening. Oh, and Mr Riddle?”

The now almost familiar drawl of his name let Tom hold in, hand on the door handle.

“Since pain doesn’t seem to affect you all that much, I hope the humiliation you’re feeling now, will be a lesson instead.”

Tom took another moment to wrestle his flushed face into submission again and threw the door open and closed behind him after he stepped through without looking back or a further word. 

Tom did learn a _lesson_ today. An unexpected one even.

But his professor was wrong, for humiliation wasn’t what Tom felt when he tried to avoid all further thoughts on his way back to the dorms. 

Not at all.

  
  
  



	2. ALTERNATIVE ENDING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut.  
> and a tiny amount of fluff - if you squint really hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternative ending was inspired by Mirley's amazing fanart (in the endnote)
> 
> I'm rather happy with the outcome but - no pun intended - it had been a pain in the ass to write. The first 2.5k just flowed out in one sitting and after that, it was like pulling teeth.  
> And the editing it needed - ugh. I think I'll need to pick up writing smut again, I'm seriously out of practice already.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy it! <3
> 
> Thanks to my beta [Sage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14) <3

“ _Twelve.”_

_Tom flinched hard - almost springing from his professor’s lap and rubbing his sensitive cock against the harsh fabric on his thigh - as the next touch on his rear didn’t bring forth the expected stinging pain but just a dull echo as a single finger caressed the flesh of his cheek, pressing into it. It felt cold against his skin, almost soothing if it weren’t for the slight pain one got when a bruise was pressed. Tom’s fair skin always had bruised easily._

_Before he could properly settle back, the arm that had laid over his back - and had felt with continued blows more comforting than suppressing - was lifted and Tom whined embarrassingly as he felt a sudden harsh grip on the nape of his neck and his upper body was pressed down again, his body sprawling itself back out over his professor’s lap on its own._

_Living for eternity didn’t sound as promising anymore - Tom would have gladly accepted to be swallowed by the floor. He couldn’t remember letting loose such an undignified sound ever before._

_Without a coherent decision, he tried to move out of the grip but the professor just held on tighter and pressed additionally his elbow into Tom’s back, forcing Tom into an awkward angle where his back was uncomfortably arched, his groin pressed into his professor's thigh. Another blow, feeling somehow even more punishingly than before, just put more force on it and in turn let him ground against the thigh in an inevitable short motion that was hopefully not noticed._

_“Th-Thirteen.”_

_Under these circumstances, Tom was able to forgive himself gasping out his count. He would do better. He would get out of this with his dignity intact. Even though the repeated caress of his cheek let him ground against the thigh again. If it were to continue, Tom feared his dignity would be shattered by other means than showing a reaction to_ pain _._

_“You bruise more easily than I thought you would.”_

  
  


Professor Evans hummed a soft, contemplating tune. It was all Tom needed to feel dread pooling in his stomach. 

“We will need to alter your punishment.”

Whatever was about to come, couldn’t be any good for Tom - for the dignity, he tried to hold on so desperately despite the situation he had found himself in.

“Of course, we can’t let you off too easily, can we now? After all, you not just hurt Ms Jones with _extracurricular_ spells, you also made her cry in front of the entirety of the seventh-year students - rather humiliating, don’t you think?”

No, Tom didn’t think so.  
Right at this moment, with the cool pressure of his professor’s slender finger wandering over the burning - the _bruised_ \- skin of his ass, Tom couldn’t think at all. The hand still clasping his nape in a tight grip didn’t help either. Tom felt dizzy and not at all inclined to follow along with his professor’s musings. 

Only another hum - already perceived as a sign of impending doom - let Tom perk up from his daze, it left him wary before his professor could do so much as open his mouth.

“Again, a choice is in order, Mr Riddle. You can experience Ms Jones’s humiliation by crying in front of your peers at the beginning of the next class, or we’ll handle the matter more privately.”

Tom didn’t need to be a genius to understand what Professor Evans was getting at. The absently wandering touch of his professor’s fingers changed to a hand firmly gripping one abused cheek while the leg Tom was bent over slightly heaved, teasing his hardened cock with friction. 

Trapped between the hand at his neck and the one groping his ass, Tom couldn’t even flinch. It was for the better, really. Tom - for the life of him - didn’t know if he would have tried to get out of the inappropriate touch or if he would have rocked shamelessly right into it.

“I leave the choice to you. But you’ll be crying at the end either way.” 

Tom’s mind blanked. How could he have assessed his professor’s character so wrongly?  
He was obviously either a sadist or a pervert - or both. Tom would prefer for the man to just get on with the spanking and finish what he’d started. 

Already bruised or not, Tom would have endured the remaining seven strikes just fine. Sadly it wasn’t with the offered choices _,_ probably _because_ Tom would have been able to leave the punishment with his dignity intact _._

Now, there wasn’t a choice, not really. Tom had worked too hard and too long for his widely acknowledged place on top of his prejudiced peers. He wouldn’t allow a single professor’s understanding of _justice_ to ruin the picture Tom had painted of himself - especially not during the last few months before he could graduate Hogwarts and get his bigger plans started. 

„I would prefer to handle the matter privately, Professor.”

“As you wish, Mr Riddle.”

Professor Evans’ tone didn’t betray his thoughts but Tom had the strong impression he was pleased by Tom’s decision. Before he could dwell on the implications though, the sudden feel of magic in the air - just as absently teasing his skin as his professor’s touch - let Tom lose his coherent thoughts for a moment. 

As focused as he had been on his task of forcible calm counting, he almost had forgotten what brought him into this situation in the first place. Had almost forgotten his desire to get his professor’s attention. His _powerful_ professor’s attention, as was just proved again when Tom watched from the corner of his eye a small pot levitating over to them from a shelf. 

Since Tom could still feel both of his professor’s hands on his skin, there was no way he could have used his wand. Professor Evans had just directed his magic word- and wandlessly _\- what a wizard! -_ and it made Tom feel weak. Maybe the punishment was worth the hassle. Tom probably wouldn’t have witnessed such a casual display of power without it. 

And-  
he had his professor’s attention now, didn’t he? 

Tom bit back a pained hiss, as the grip on his bruised cheek loosened and the blood shot uncomfortably back into the bruise. He didn’t dare to betray his nerves by trying to get a look over his shoulder - the grip on his neck would allow the movement either way - but he strained his ears to hear his professor opening the summoned pot. 

While he had an inkling of what was about to happen, Tom didn’t know for sure what he would have to endure. Or for how long. With which outcome? 

Tom felt uncertainty like he hadn’t in years. He had been a predator before he had set the first step on Hogwarts grounds, before he had even known about magic - and no matter what the pureblooded bastards in Slytherin had liked to think, Tom hadn’t once been prey to them.

So, Tom had no explanation for what happened inside his head, for his body's traitorous reactions.

He enjoyed being a predator, being a Lord to his Knights. He had worked hard to gain his position. He was strong and mighty and brilliant, he was independent. He relished in controlling all aspects of his life, even his death. He relished in controlling others.  
But still.

The helplessness Tom experienced right now, trapped over his professor’s lap by a tight, grounding grip on his neck, and the in stark contrast surprisingly gentle hand at his rear - tracing invisible patterns on his skin, not longer absently, but with intent pressing lightly into some of the bruises only to caress them in apology right after. 

Being exposed like this - with a thumb ghosting through his crack, exerting just enough pressure to be noticeable, to make Tom’s breath hitch; with a hand spread over one cheek, holding on firm enough to expose the place Tom had never bothered with before to his professor’s burning gaze - Tom didn’t hate it. And while he didn’t know how to handle this realization it was better to think later about it and just fall into the sensations right now. 

If Tom would take the time to _think_ he would surely combust. 

Out of embarrassment of- of finding out the previously summoned pot held some form of lubrication which Professor Evans now spread over his hole with repetitive strokes, never breaching the tight ring of muscles, only teasing it in a mockery of a massage; of his surprised jerk when the thumb of the hand that was kneading his ass just _slipped_ and suddenly was _inside_ him without meeting any kind of resistance; of his professor’s soft coo at Tom’s distress because of it and the feeling of calming strokes through his hair.

No, Tom was better off not thinking at all. 

He would get this punishment over with and he would move on. He was embarrassed, yes, but it wasn’t as horrible as he’d dreaded. If this - his professor’s long, slender finger sliding in and out of his ass at a leisure pace, a thumb occasionally putting additional pressure at his rim - was all, then Tom would make it out with his dignity as much intact as possible despite the situation he found himself in. 

True - the slow building of arousal in his stomach, which he could no longer confuse with the pain of the previous spanking, would eventually force him to come all over Professor Evans’ lap. It would be embarrassing and humiliating but it would not cause tears. While he had never touched _this_ place, Tom had, of course, found relief before and he had not once felt the need to cry.

All musings were swept off his mind by Professor Evans, apparently noticing Tom’s absent-minded state, changing tactics, and using one of his _long_ fingers to reach deep into Tom with purpose and forced his attention back to his body by hitting the spot Tom had just heard rumours of before. 

The resulting full-body jerk pressed his groin, his rock-hard cock, against his professor’s solid thigh again. There was no chance for Tom to suppress the startled moan. He had prepared himself for pain but he hadn’t prepared himself to withstand _this_. 

Despite the numerous offers Tom had gotten over the years - boys and girls, men and women alike - he had never taken someone up on it. They had all been peasants in face of Tom’s brilliance, his power. No one had been worthy to be his equal. He hadn’t had any desire to touch or be touched by what was beneath him. Tom hadn’t lived celibate before, he was a healthy teenager who didn’t deny himself occasional quiet relief. But this-

Tom had the foreboding that this wouldn’t be quiet at all. As if dared to prove Tom’s hunch, Professor Evans hit the spot again, keeping pressure on it while rubbing the calloused pad of his fingertip over the previously unexplored area in circular movements, wringing moan after moan out of Tom before he got a grip on himself and bit his lip in denial. 

He would get this done with as little humiliation as possible. He would come all over his professor since this seemed to be what the pervert was getting at and then, Tom would leave without acknowledging the mortification of losing his cool in such an undignified way. He wouldn’t give his professor with delusions of righteousness the satisfaction of knowing how much the punishment went under Tom’s skin 

Tom managed to keep his mouth shut for a little more time, withstanding the nearly painful arousal that his professor’s touch evoked in him when the grounding grip on his neck disappeared together with the finger in his ass.

With an inaudible sigh, Tom let go of the lip between his teeth to suck in a breath and gather his senses during the unexpected break Professor Evans had granted him. He was _hothothot,_ burning all over his body, almost feeling bereft of the other man’s cool touch. Almost. But Tom hadn’t much time to feel the loss before the damn hands were back on him and his professor took hold of his jaw, forcing two long fingers between Tom’s parted lips and pressed down hard on his tongue, trapping it. 

Professor Evans only tutted at Tom’s garbled surprise. 

“Really, Mr Riddle, I thought I had made myself clear? This is not about you enjoying yourself, it is punishment for humiliating a fellow student. Keeping yourself quiet and composed won’t have the desired effect.”

Closing his eyes in defeat, Tom had to acknowledge that he had underestimated his professor as much as he had mistaken him for something other than a sadist. 

Apparently, he would milk the situation for all that it was worth and wouldn’t allow Tom to keep a resemblance of dignity. Tom was pressed to admit his defeat and bow to his fate when he felt a hand at his rear again, cool and slick with fresh lubricant. 

Like before, a single finger passed the entrance without resistance. Tom was sure he could have missed it, if not for his professor crooking his finger and tugging at Tom’s rim from the inside, pulling out an unhindered moan from Tom’s forcefully kept open lips. 

Tom tried to relax into his awkward position over Professor Evans’ lap. As much as his professor tried to humiliate him - and as much as he was on his way to succeed - Tom would not show his discomfort by losing his composure. He would portray nonchalance as much as possible. After all, a situation was just humiliating if one showed their embarrassment. 

More than hearing it, Tom felt his professor’s amused hum vibrating through his body. The at this point already conditioned dreading wariness let Tom almost bite down on the fingers between his teeth but he was able to compose himself. At least on this front - he couldn’t stop the tensing of his body, the clenching around the intrusion which made the whole experience just all the more intense, startling a high keening sound out of him before the teasing finger was pulled out his ass completely again. 

Despite his intentions, Tom was beginning to feel desperate. He ached to just rock against his professor’s thigh and get over with it - but he didn’t want to _show_ how desperate he was. It felt like losing even though there was no possibility of winning. 

The decision was taken out of his hands when Professor Evans plunged back into Tom’s hole with two fingers. The burn of it would have made Tom hiss if he hadn’t had to be mindful of the fingers still resting in his mouth, keeping it open.

Where his professor had eased him into the sensations before, had been careful and slow even though the repeated brushing of Tom’s prostate had almost been too much, he now went into Tom with abandon. 

The two fingers stretched Tom uncomfortably for a moment but all discomfort was morphed into pleasure through the unfamiliar friction the fingers provided - the fast repeated pulling out and pushing right back in, a sensation Tom had never felt before. The force with which his professor worked him, caused Tom to rock slightly against the professor’s thigh, giving additional pressure on his neglected cock

Tom used the little room he was allowed, trapped as he was between his professor’s hands, to the best of his ability and started to rock mindlessly back onto the fingers and forth against the thigh, pushing himself further into the pleasure. He ignored the embarrassment of participating in his single-minded focus to just get over with it and be done. 

Surrendering to his pleasure as he was, Tom didn’t even notice how Professor Evans stopped his efforts in favour of placing his leg more firmly into the ground, giving Tom the leverage to fuck himself onto the stilled fingers while simultaneously searching for relief on the other man’s thigh.

Tom, usually always being quiet in his solitary found pleasure, had no opportunity to keep his moans, his panting, for himself. They spilt out as they came and strangely enough, Tom _liked_ to hear himself. It added to the helplessness, the desire. The feeling of being exposed over his professor’s lap, being _used_ for the other man’s entertainment. 

And there was no mistaking, that Professor Evans had to feel some _excitement_ while watching Tom debauche himself, if the noticeable bulge that pressed into Tom’s side was any indication. 

In the end, it was exactly this - the realisation that Tom wasn’t alone in his unexpected arousal and helpless desire, that coupled with an accidental hit of his prostate made him undone and let Tom spill his seed all over his professor’s brown trousers, leaving dark wet patches in its wake as Tom collapsed gracelessly right into it. 

He couldn’t care less about the mess. As it was, Tom was busy enough with forcing some desperately needed air into his lungs and blinking away the fuzziness in his brain that had made him behave in such an undignified way. 

  
  


Coming back to coherency, a small whine was startled out of Tom when he realised that the fingers had picked up moving again while Tom had been out of it. They were nowhere near his sensitive spot - just pushing in and out at a leisurely pace, occasionally scissoring to stretch him further, a thumb pressing at his rim as if to test its firmness.

“Are you back with me, Mr Riddle?”

“Wha-“

Tom tried to speak but his tongue was still trapped and didn’t allow for articulation. Why would Professor Evans continue? He had wanted to humiliate Tom - for sure forcing Tom to come on his fingers and over his lap would be enough? He- Tom squirmed and gasped as he felt his rim burn when his professor took advantage of Tom’s post-orgasm relaxation to add another slick finger without breaking the rhythm of his hand, stretching Tom to an uncomfortable degree.

„Ah, you didn’t think we would be finished, did you? I _did_ tell you, you would be crying in the end and I don’t see tears on your face yet.“

As if to punctuate his statement, Professor Evans found Tom’s spot again, pressing it lightly with repetitive touches while Tom tried to work through the painful overstimulation the action brought with it.

Instead of focusing on the sensations, Tom tried to let himself be distracted by his professor’s words. He would insist for Tom to cry? Tom hadn’t cried since he had been a small child and he sure wouldn't restart _now_ just because his professor wanted him to.

So, what exactly had the man planned for him that he was so sure he would get his way? 

Tom‘s body tried to escape the maddening prodding and brushing by an involuntary twitch that did nothing but break his careful dissociation and redirected his focus back to Professor Evans' hard cock pressing into Tom’s flank.

Surely he wouldn’t-?

Tom moaned around the fingers in his mouth when his imagination was fanned by the ongoing abuse of his hole. Would it feel like this if his professor were about to-?

Trapped by the vivid images his mind came up with, the next brush over his prostate caused Tom to whimper pathetically. His face flushed in mortification and he felt sweat breaking out all over his body. His clothes, merely an afterthought before, felt now restricting - the shirt clung to his body, the trousers on his thighs trapped his legs together as if they were bound. 

Tom wanted to speak - even though his mind wasn’t able to come up with words, too immersed with the pain of the overstimulation that slowly but surely shifted into pleasure as he had never experienced before. He wanted to yell - to reassure himself - that his professor’s labour would be for nought, that Tom wouldn’t start crying - even though he could feel a wetness to his eyes that didn’t bode well. With every punishing action against his prostate, layer by layer, Tom lost the last hold of his usually iron-clad control, he was defenceless against the way his body was used to betray him. 

He was burning all over and the sweat clinging to his feverish skin didn’t help cool him down, his hair was plastered to his forehead. When he tried to take stock of his body he suddenly got aware that he was squirming, that he was _moving_ and rubbing his anew hardened but still oversensitive cock against his professor’s wet thigh again. It hurt just as much as the hand brushing the bruised skin of his ass, but not nearly as much as the never-stopping assault on his prostate that sent shiver after shiver down his spine. 

Even so, Tom had to admit to himself that the pain wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It only built and built the helpless arousal that trapped him even more than his professor’s hands which were working Tom through his punishment. 

In the security of his mind, Tom could acknowledge that he relished under his professor’s attention. But he refused to just give in and present the man the tears he demanded - the tears that were already gathering in Tom’s eyes without his allowance - at least not as long as there wasn’t a specified _afterwards._

Another moan was wrung out of Tom. He absently noticed the wet sound of it and- _oh Merlin_. Somehow, the realisation of his drooling caused by the prolonged forced openness of his mouth was even more mortifying than the fact that he was wantonly moaning like a cheap whore on his professor’s fingers. 

On reflex, Tom tried to swallow down the spit pooled in his mouth but in the process, he only managed to suck on the invading fingers. A dreading - _excited_ \- shudder ran down his spine with Professor Evans’ dark chuckle.

“Eager, Mr Riddle.”

And while the overstimulation of his prostate never ceased, never stopped making him squirm against the cum-wet thigh, rubbing his hard cock on it - the fingers in his mouth retreated slowly, dragging lazily over his tongue. 

Tom’s relief was short-lived for the fingers pushed back in before they even had left his mouth completely. He tried to escape the stroking sensation, but the grip on his jaw was too tight - _bruising_ \- to allow much movement so Tom could only take it as his professor fucked his mouth with long fingers just like he fucked Tom’s ass at the same time. 

It should feel awkward, Tom should scowl at this travesty, maybe laugh at his professor’s attempts of- whatever it was he aimed for. 

But all Tom could do was try to hold himself together in face of the helpless arousal of being filled - _of being played with_ \- from two sides, of the inability to speak, to escape, _to think._

Tom’s mind - always running, always considering all possibilities, calculating all variables at every time, planning ahead, and reevaluating the past - was filled with nothing but fuzzy blankness. His instincts finally reduced to indulge his renewed arousal, to chase after another release no matter the consequences.

His lips closed around the intruding fingers when he started sucking on them, twirling his tongue around them all while imagining them to be something _more_. Tom’s hands closed around the chair’s legs to gain leverage and brace himself against the force his professor used to plunge into his ass, no longer just massaging his pleasure spot but outright attacking it, forcing wave after wave of _painpleasurepainpleasurepain_ through Tom’s body. 

Tom had no capacity left to spare for minding his dignity. When the fingers in his mouth pushed deeper than before, triggering his gag reflex and letting tears spring to his eyes, he could only moan brokenly; his chin just as wet as the hot and bruised flesh of his ass.  
His groin, sticky from old cum and freshly leaked precum, getting worse and worse with how he rubbed it again and again into his old release on his professor’s trousers.

And his face - Tom hadn’t even noticed when he had eventually begun to cry. The overstimulation, the desperation to _come_ forced the tears to flow freely without any chance of holding back. Professor Evans didn't give him a single moment to _breathe,_ to calm down, he just pushed Tom further and further. 

“You’re allowed to come, Mr Riddle. We’ll be done then - after all, you shed the tears you owed me.”

And Tom _wanted to_ , he really did- but he couldn’t. 

Even when his professor changed his ministrations to not only concentrating on his prostate but also scissoring his fingers to work Tom even more open, to play with him in earnest. Even when he started to heave his knee in a repetitive motion to give Tom’s cock some friction. 

All it managed was to break Tom’s silence - previous keening and moaning aside - and force sobs and hiccups out of him. Tom was not just shedding tears, he was crying loudly as he had never done before. He wanted to come, _he needed to come_ \- but he couldn’t. Not with how high strung he was. And his inability distressed him all the more. 

Distantly, Tom noticed his professor hum again. The previous experiences let Tom involuntarily tense up further, locking all muscles. 

Even so, Tom collapsed bonelessly on his professor’s lap when the man retracted both hands off Tom’s body without warning. Tom couldn’t do much more than force in some desperately needed breath before the hands were on him again and manhandled him into a more upright position. 

Tom yelped when his upper body was pulled up by strong hands, his face pushed into a dark, warm curve smelling of fire and sweets. A hand sunk in the sweat-wet curls of his hair, another reaching around the bruised skin of his ass to grip his hip bone in a secure hold. Tom’s hands trapped between their chests didn’t allow him to push himself away. As soon as Tom so much did as try, the hand on the back of his head pressed him more into the curve that Tom just now realized to be his professor’s neck. 

His mind was fuzzy and he felt disconnected from the pain-pleasure-pain Professor Evans had put him through until now, from the aching of his still hard cock, from the emptiness deep inside him. 

In an attempt to anchor himself, Tom freed his hands and held tightly onto whatever he could reach. 

Distantly he marvelled at the feel of his professor’s hair that looked way too rebellious for the softness Tom experienced around his searching fingers. Anything _but_ soft was the arm Tom gripped tightly with his other hand - it was firmer, so much _broader_ than he would have expected. No wonder, his professor had had the strength and stamina to follow through with his initial threat before he had been _distracted._

While dry lips ghosted over his temple, moving as if speaking but no sound reached his ears, Tom wondered idly what else Professor Evans was able to do with his strength and stamina. What other surprises he hid under his clothes.

Tom had just calmed down marginally, was able to properly breathe again, when the hand at his hip trailed over his ass and his professor slipped an unobtrusive single finger back into Tom’s hole. He mapped the inside walls with long strokes, adding another finger to play with the entrance, widening it just to let it close again, making Tom shudder and whimper helplessly into his neck. 

“There, there.”

The hand on Tom’s head patted absentmindedly as if he were merely a distressed pet - it only worsened Tom’s desperation and he couldn’t even pinpoint why. It was maddening. Maddening, like the tears that kept flowing, staining his professor’s robes like Tom had stained his trousers.

 _“_ Are you ready to finish your punishment, Mr Riddle?”

Tom was more than ready. He just wanted to be done, to curl into a ball and forget that this embarrassment ever happened. To cling to Professor Evans and be held like this a little more. To endure whatever his professor was willing to give - be it punishment or reward.

The arousal born of the situation as a whole - the clashing emotions, almost crippling him; the overstimulation of the past minutes, eternity or however long it had been - kept him firmly in its grasp, didn’t allow Tom to relax and let go. Tom was left sobbing in desperation.

“ _How?”_

Tom was so far gone, that he didn’t comprehend how the lips trailing the side of his face curled into a smirk, how the loathed vibration of his professor’s humming rattled against his chest. 

_“_ Let go. _”_

And in an unexpected, fluid motion, Professor Evans pulled his fingers out and came down hard with his open hand on the already bruised flesh of Tom’s ass.

The stinging pain was worse than during the previous spanking and tore Tom out of the tense haze the overstimulation had trapped him in before. With a muffled cry, the taste of salt on his lips, Tom defiled his professor for a second time this day. 

Fire ran through his nerves, burning away all the embarrassment that might have still lingered, and left behind only cosy nothingness as Tom’s eyes closed and he passed out, cradled against _his_ professor’s chest - feeling soft lips on his forehead and a hand in his hair. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have [tumblr](https://ellionne.tumblr.com/) now. Feel free to check it out and throw me a question or something. :D
> 
> —-
> 
> AMAZING ART BY [Mirley](https://twitter.com/sepiolitedreams)
> 
> [](https://twitter.com/sepiolitedreams)


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